


Schwellenangst

by heytheresail0r



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Confusion, Emptiness, Group Therapy, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Possibly Triggering, Post-Season/Series 13, Psych Ward, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 13:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heytheresail0r/pseuds/heytheresail0r
Summary: Schwellenangst: (Noun) German; Fear of crossing a threshold to embark on something new.Dennis Reynolds is not okay.





	Schwellenangst

**Author's Note:**

> If you are having problems with mental health, self-harm, or thoughts of suicide, firstly I implore you not to read this as this is potentially triggering and I do not want to be the cause of that, and secondly seek help. There are many helplines you can contact depending on your location, and there are numerous websites that help you equip yourself for these episodes. Stay safe. <3

 He is an enigma of sorts. Contradictory in the worst possible way. To feel as though you have been hollowed out, scraped clean of an identity, of any living matter, of the right to exist in a three dimensional space, and yet, to feel so full of... something. Dennis wasn't sure what. And so he was empty, but he was full. A riddle that couldn't be solved. Oh well. He wasn't interested in the answers anyhow.

 He went through the motions of a human. He woke up, got dressed, made a breakfast he wouldn't eat, got in his car, drove to work, worked, came back home, slept. But it was such a pale imitation of humanity. He was an imposter. Some days he would break away from this routine, killing himself slowly with alcohol or a razor. Piece by piece, he would strip away at his mortal shell until one day all that would be left was nothing. No skin, no bones, no muscle. It was an intricate ritual, one that he had been cultivating for many years since he was a young boy. Three decades. Three whole decades of dying slowly. 

 This is life.

 There were times he was better. He was so good. He would socialize and watch movies and remember what happened in them and drink for fun, real fun, and not once would he even think about the possibility of dying because how could Dennis Reynolds ever die? And it was in these moments as he ran through life like a record set at the wrong speed and the music was playing too quickly that he would feel a vibration in his foot as it fell onto concrete, bouncing all the way into the cavity of his skull and he could almost pretend as if he was a human being.

 He does not feel pain, and yet he is drowning in it. He couldn't tell if the pain was coming from his arm, or from inside his head, but one of them hurt and one of them did not. Was his arm supposed to distract him from his head? Was it working? Where was the pain coming from?

 Rate your pain from 1-10 said a set of teeth. 

 Zero said Dennis Reynold's mouth as Dennis Reynolds watched from across the room.

 Why did you hurt yourself?

 One.

 What did you use?

 Two.

 Is there anyone you need contacting?

 Three.

 Do you have a history of mental health problems?

 Four.

 What did you do with the blade?

 Five.

 Dennis?

 Six.

 Dennis?

 Seven. Who's Dennis?

 Mr Reynolds, please stand up.

 Eight.

 Dennis please, you're scaring me.

 Nine.

 My name is Dennis Reynolds. I am forty-one years old and I co-own a bar called Paddy's Pub in Phillidelphia. Life is alright. I have a son, Brian Jnr who I had whilst having an affair with a woman Mandy. They live in North Dakota. I went to stay with them for a while, so I could be a father to my son. It didn't work out. My best friends are Mac and Charlie. They're both dumbasses. I don't care for them much at all, but I hang out with them regardless. I live with Mac. Dee Reynolds is my sister and twin, and she is 50% annoying and 50% bitch. I barely tolerate her. My father is Frank Reynolds. He doesn't care for me, and I don't care for him. My mother is dead. I will be joining her soon.

 My name is Dennis Reynolds. I am in my twenties and I just bought a bar that we called Paddy's Pub in Phillidelphia. Life is alright. I bring home a new woman every night. Being a bartender and the owner is awesome. I co-own this pub with Mac and Charlie. I met them in High School. They're both dumbasses. I don't care for them much at all, but I hang out with them regardless. I just moved in with Mac. Dee Reynolds is my sister and twin, and she is 50% annoying and 50% bitch. I barely tolerate her. My father is Frank Reynolds. I haven't seen him in a long time. I don't care.

 My name is Dennis Reynolds. I am a co-owner of Paddy's Pub. I live in Philly. My friends are Mac and Charlie. They are dumbasses. I am related to Dee Reynolds. I am the son of Frank Reynolds.

 My name is. I am. I live in. My friends are. They are. I am related to. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am. I am? I am?? I am??? I read books, I think.

 Now that's a ten.

 Beep, beep, beep, beep. What is that sound? Why is that sound? That sound is foreign. He doesn't like it. Dennis opens his eyes and looks over at the heart monitor next to him, the beeping noises increasing in speed. Now that's weird. Is it attached to him? He looks at the sprawling wire, twisting toward him. He supposed so. Was it giving a false reading? Dennis Reynolds does not have a heart to monitor.

 Well fuck.

 He sighed as a nurse bustled into view. She was ugly. She didn't have eyelids, her eyebrows were in her hairline. her smile was red and wide and too big for her face, her hands were massive, almost obscuring his vision, and her chin was so low down it reached Hell. She spoke to him and he couldn't hear her words, just a deep echo that fucking hurt his head. 

 Go away, he wanted to say, and maybe he did, maybe he didn't, but all of a sudden, she wasn't there any more and the room was lighter. Did the sun suddenly rise? Or was her massive head just casting a shadow? He did not know. Time did not exist anymore.

 Den?

 No. Not you. Fuck off.

 How you holding up buddy?

 He couldn't see him, but he knew who it was. Only Mac would ask such a stupid question. 

 I miss you. 

 I don't miss you.

 The bed's been cold with you gone.

 Then get a space heater for fuck's sake.

 I was so scared when I found you, I thought you were gone for real this time.

 So it was your fault. Selfish prick.

 Nurse says you're not eating.

 Why do I need to do something like that?

 I love you. Den?

 He turned around to look at him, but Mac wasn't there. Nobody was. Nobody ever was.

 He attended therapy like he was told to. He hated the group sessions. Schizophrenics who patted themselves on the back for panicking over a hallucination without trying to kill themselves, people with OCD who only stirred their tea once instead of nine times, borderlines who didn't fly off the handle when they were told no, as if any of these things were a real accomplishment. Maybe that last one was Dennis. He couldn't remember. The thing about being in a psych ward is that you were never alone with your problems. Dennis hated it. Hated that people understood, and yet at the same time, never fucking understood. He wasn't trying to get better like everyone else in the circle. He didn't want to get better. He was already better. He was Dennis Reynolds.

 Everybody visited him. Frank. Charlie. Dee. And Mac. Fucking Mac.

 They kissed. He knew Mac liked kissing. Is this what normal people do? Kiss? He seemed so pleased when Dennis pressed his lips to his, not paying attention to the fact that Dennis was unmoving and Dennis did not close his eyes. 

 He got out of the psych ward. He doesn't remember how. He had been on autopilot for so long. It doesn't matter. He's out. He's free. What should he do first? It is decided for him as Mac puts him to bed, and he is told to sleep. He sets up his medication for him in those little containers that Dennis will shove down the toilet at his first opportunity. Chemicals. A corpse doesn't need them.

 I'll make you some dinner, it'll be ready by the time you wake up bro.

 Okay. Not okay. Maybe. Yes. No. Definitely. Sure man. Yeehaw. What? He doesn't answer.

 He sleeps. 

 Dennis Reynolds is not okay.

 Dennis Reynolds has not been okay for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos and a comment. Stay safe. <3


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